Living Arc
by Blake-Schawarz
Summary: This is what I think the guys would have been like if there was no war, no gundams and no space colonies....eventual 2x4


Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.

Enjoy

Blake

"Hey, can I help you?" Came the question with the American twang. And that's where it began, I swear. In the gym, at eleven o' clock at night, looking for something to send home that says 'hey, I'm OK'. Why the gym? Well, my niece always sends me things from the least likely place you'd get souvenirs. Once she sent me a napkin from a McDonalds in Europe. Unfortunately, I wasn't having much luck so far.

"Um…yeah, which team do you think has the best guard?" I gestured to the NBA shirts on my right. Unlike the team singlets, these shirts were tight-ish and had string laced up the front, and the team name in the middle. My niece loves them.

"Personally, I'm a big fan of Nash, but the Mavs haven't put out a girl's shirt yet. Of this, lowly, small, insignificant selection, I'd have to go with the Lakers." I'd seen this guy around before, always chatting with the clients, and waving a muesli bar around as he did.

The shirt…I think my dear, delightful niece would prefer the away shirt, the purple would suit her better. You know, maybe my earlier assessment was unfair. I think it really started when my charming niece insisted that a philosophy course would be good for me - while I decided what to do with my life. She probably had an ulterior motive though - either she wanted me to get out and actually live my life, or she wanted my room. One or the other.

"Who's it for?"

"Huh?"

"Welcome back to reality," he said, violet eyes twinkling, hi red shirt sitting lop-sided, his long braid trailing down his back.

"Um…OK," I looked at him for a while, "sorry, what did you say?"

"Who is the shirt for?" he asked, as though he had a secret joke going.

"Oh, my niece."

He gave me a strange look and then suddenly burst into talk, "you know, I don't think we have shirts that small…or anything that-"

"She's 17," I said evenly, putting a stop to his floundering. It's not like this is the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last…

"Oh…OK then…hang on a sec, how can you have a seventeen-year-old niece? You gotta be what…17 yourself."

"I'm actually 19. I have a much older sister," I said, thoroughly used to this conversation. I got ready for all the sexual innuendo jokes about my father, but none came. Duo looked at the shirts for a second and then said,

"Don't ya find it weird that you have a niece so close to your own age?" he took a bite out if his muesli bar.

"Nah, not really, my whole family's strange. By now, all the quirks get over-looked."

"Duo, are you chatting up the customers again?" a voice accused from behind the front desk.

"No, I swear I'm not. We're just talking Hilde."

"The last time I heard you say, 'we're just talking Hilde' I caught you making out in the change rooms."

"Oh but Hilde, it was empty."

"That's not the point, you're just lucky the manager has her break then. Otherwise she would've had your ass."

"I won't tell Milliardo that you referred to him as a girl."

"And I won't tell him you were making out with the clientele," she said, walking though a door that had 'Staff Only' on the front of it. He -Duo I guess- rolled his eyes and chuckled at her back and turned back to me.

"So, which shirt do you think?"

I watched as the plane slowly touched down. I kept my eyes peeled, waiting. One by one people started to trickle out, then came the rush, but still I couldn't see them.

They were the last two out, I swear. As soon as I saw them, I sprinted over and grabbed my best friend and his sister into a huge hug.

"It's nice to see you too Quatre," Cathy said, hugging me one-armed.

"I missed you guys heaps!" I said enthusiastically, hugging her tight.

"So how's the course?" Trowa asked in his usual quiet tone.

"It's challenging, but I like it…it makes you think laterally," I said, waving my arms around for emphasis. "How was your holiday?"

"It was fantastic wasn't it Trowa?" she said, not expecting a response, "the food and the people and everything is just absolutely, fantastically, over-the-top wonderful and we loved ever second of it didn't we Trowa?" Gees I love Cathy, her enthusiasm and her pure zest and love of life.

Trowa just nodded. I think Cathy speaks too fast at times. He can't keep up. Sometimes he doesn't bother speaking because she does it for him. By the same token, Trowa's a pretty quiet person in general.

"…and then Trowa glared at him and he retreated so fast…I don't think I've ever seen anyone that scared of my baby brother," Cathy said excitedly, before bursting into giggles.

"Well, I wasn't about to let some random guy put his hand up your skirt," Trowa said evenly, over the top of his coffee cup. It had taken a while but we had decided on 'the usual' for dinner and after listening to every story about 'the trip' Cathy was slowly winding down, running out of stories over cake and coffee.

"And how have you been Quatre?" Cathy asked, taking a bite of her mud cake.

"Alright thanks Cathy, just getting into the class, still have some unpacking to do at my new apartment…darling Anya made sure I had absolutely everything I would need," I sighed dramatically, "aside from that, there's not much that's new."

"How is Anya? I haven't seen her in a long time," Cathy said conversationally.

"She's 17 and turning into her mother," I said, receiving a chuckle from Trowa and a suppressed giggle from Cathy.

"What about that guy you were telling me about that guy you were telling me all about yesterday?" Wufei said, clearing our table, piling the plates on his left hand.

"Oh…spill it Quatre… I want to hear all about it," Cathy said, she's always taken an active interest in my love life, just like a nosy sister. I glared at Wufei for mentioning it. God, even Trowa was leaning forward in interest.

"I was nothing, seriously. I was just in the gym foyer-"

"At eleven o'clock at night," Meiran punctuated, wiping down the tables near us. She and Wufei were getting ready to shut up for the night. I like her, I really do, but I truly wish she and her nosy boyfriend would but out from time to time.

"Thank you Meiran, but I am capable of telling both Catherine and Trowa without your input, I was there you know."

"Just thought it was worth them knowing."

"I shook my head a little, "Anyway, I was looking at those NBA shirts Anya likes so much, trying to find one to send her when one of the guys behind the desk came over and started talking to me. I mean, fair enough right? I was the last guy in the gym, and I guess he was trying to help me, but you have never seen a guy quite like him. Long chestnut braid to his waistband, muesli bar in his hand and violet eyes. The American twang in his voice almost didn't fit him, with his red shirt hanging off his shoulder. It looked kind of funny though, like he was wearing his big brother's shirt or something." I saw Wufei about to open his mouth again so I rushed on. "And we were just chatting away, minus the sexual innuendo jokes about my father when he starts having an argument with a girl behind the desk about him making out with a client and whether their boss was male or female…I think he's a male…the boss that is."

"He sounded nice, was he cute?" Cathy asked, winking at me when I blushed.

"Um…he was OK looking I guess," I managed to choke out.

"Only OK?"

"Yeah, he seemed nice enough…I mean, for someone I just met."

"How about this?" Wufei asked, pointing at…I can't identify what it is.

"Oh God…I dunno…" nothing's as good as that shirt.

"Good evening, can I help you?"

"Yes, how much is this?" I think I've asked that question about a thousand times. I've been trying so hard to find something to send back to Anya. I just can't find anything that _fits_. Trowa, Cathy, Wufei and Meiran came out with me, on the premise that afterwards we could go to a club that Meiran knows. The barman that is.

"It's an even twenty dollars." How can it be even? On second thought, I don't want to know.

"Hey, aren't you that Winner kid? What's his name? Quatre?" the guy asks, his jaw dropping as he realizes just who he is standing in front of. I hate this sort of thing, so I nod half-heartedly, internally wincing at the incoming sex jokes.

"Oh man, I envy your old man, what'd he have? A new wife every hour, a new kid every day for thirty days? It's like the forty day walk through the sand - the thirty day walk through the whores, leaving crying babies in his wake…always know where Mr. Winner's been, he leaves daughters everywhere. A babe a house eh?" Meiran grabs my arm and drags me off. I don't like hearing about my mother. No one knows that my birth killed her. I'd known Trowa for four years before he knew it, Wufei for four and a half. I guess they told Cathy and Meiran. Somehow they knew how sensitive it was. My mother that is. Anyway, when anyone started on me, they always dragged me off, Meiran leaving threats in her wake.

Hours later I sat at the bar, head on the bar, with an empty glass in my hand. That guy still plagued me. Trowa's always teased me about being too sensitive, and you'd think that with the frequency with which this occurred, that I'd be used to it, but I'm not and it always bites when anyone talks about my mother like that. Father, well, I don't really know him. But my mother, god, she was the most beautiful person I've ever met…and what gives that guy the right to talk about my parents like that? I'll bet his only married because his father knocked up his mother. _If _they even got married.

Sometimes I hate having such a big family. I mean, a 'simple' family gathering is usually 60 odd people, plus kids. And me. The odd one out. The only male. The only one not interested in the opposite sex. Not to mention Christmas, I mean, I need a full profile on every single family member just to do the Christmas shopping. Well, except me and Anya and Iria. Anya's still hard to but for. We have this thing and now I can't keep it up. I can't find anything to match her last present to me - a business card for a skipp from an out-of-town business. As in four hours out-of-town…..

You know who was fun to talk to? That guy from the guy. Well, he seemed like fun. Aren't too many sarcastic minds around anymore. He looked kinda lost in his shirt, falling off his shoulder, and waving a museli bar around. And he didn't trot out all the Winner jokes about Father. That was a nice change…as though I haven't heard the 'a new house, a new wife' thing before. But I really wish that jerk hadn't gone on about mother like that….

I stood out on the grass of the oval at the gym, listening to the music of the weight room sound system. Just loving the fresh cool air around me. I remember years ago, my sister teaching me to dance. Waltz, Foxtrot, Samba, ChaCha. I know them all. I guess it was there that I first discovered my love of music. I loved feeling that lost in it. That immersed in it. Giving it total control of my body like that. Slowly, I let my body follow the old moves. Leading my imaginary partner around the middle of the oval. As a quick Latino song came on, my pace picked up and I moved faster, losing it more and more, not aware of anything but the fresh cool air and the feel of my partner's…I don't have a partner. I stopped and opened my eyes and found myself looking at violet eyes.

"I love dance too…learnt for Hilde's formal thing."

"Oh…no, it was just the shock…I hadn't expected anyone else to be around at this time."

"Yeah, I was wiping down the equipment and I saw you out here. I figured you needed a partner. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's just been a long time since I've danced with anyone. The woman who taught me…passed on."

"Sorry man…I didn't mean to bring up sore memories."

The next night found me at the gym, pedaling away at the bike, trying to read Satre's _Hell is Other People_ and understand it. And failing. And cursing my darling niece for convincing me to do this stupid course.

"Hey." An American drawl broke into my thoughts.

"Ev'nin'," I muttered. Still trying to read this stupid piece of…

"What're you reading?" it's The Guy at The Gym, long braid hanging over his shoulder as he leans over the rowing machine to wipe it down. I'm the last here. Again. This time there's a lollypop sticking out of his mouth.

"Trying to read _Hell is Other People_. And failing," I say, glad for the break.

"Yeah, I've read that, want some help?"

"You've read it? Why?"

"I like knowing what people think about the way we think. It intrigues me." he sighed and turned to face me. "Satre believes that feelings, like shame, cannot be felt unless we've been seen by other people. The Other. That there are two people in existence for every one physical body. There is the you, or me in the mind, the me and there is the me that the Other creates, the myself. The point he makes is me can be a great guy, but myself can be an absolute bastard. And remember, that the Other can never know me. they can only ever know myself, so that line from TV, 'you can never know me'? Well, according to Satre, that's true, in the absolute sense. No one can know what's going on inside your mind but you. It makes you realize just how much other people's opinions can mean to a person. To think that with one look kids can make or break another kid. People can get depressed because me and myself are so different, because other people's opinions get in the way. Powerful stuff eh?"

"Yeah. Girls are very good at messing with that sort of stuff. My sisters, god, once a couple of them came home in tears because of what other people thought of them. I never really thought about how much the opinion of other people can affect me." Except where my parents are concerned.

"Well, in all honesty, it's just an objectification of all people. You objectify the other, but in doing that, you objectify yourself too. It's a powerful thing, le regard. En soi. Pour soi."

"The look? In itself? For itself? What are you talking about?"

"That was the other thing about Satre, he set up these terms. Le regard is the look of the Other. En soi is being in itself, and describes the states of things, meaning that only the concrete is real, an objectification, like that bike or your actions of the past. The fact that you were here last night. Pour Soi is being for itself, a state of self awareness and control, being aware of itself, like you and me. Right so far?" he says, watching me carefully. I nod slowly, rolling the ideas around in my head. He smiles and continues, "he mentions us being programmed in school, to do a certain thing and not to do others. So that when we get the look of the Other, we know that we are in the wrong and feel shame. For, he claims, were there no other people, shame would not exist, like it doesn't for Tarzan and George in the jungle I guess. I think that's about it."

"Wow. You make it sound so simple…thanks Mr…"

He stuck out his hand, "Duo Maxwell…but just call me Duo. Mr makes me feel old."

I chuckled and took his hand, "Quatre, Quatre Winner."


End file.
